


After the War

by mossymorgan



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Nikolina - Freeform, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, anti-mal, this is basically what i want in KoS but i know we're not gonna get it so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mossymorgan/pseuds/mossymorgan
Summary: Of course Alina loved her husband. Mal was her best friend, her partner in crime, the love of her life. After all, she had given up so much of herself so he could live, so they could be married. But as their third winter at the newly-built Keramzin approaches, the life Alina left behind begins to weigh on her.





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place post-war, when Alina and Mal are living in Keramzin. It's been around two years, so just a little while after the events of Crooked Kingdom. Alina is struggling with PTSD and the fact that her new life might not be what she wants.

Of course she loved him.

After all, she had won a war for him. She had given up the opportunity to become Ravkan royalty, the chance to protect her country, and all for Mal. Alina knew she would do it all again the same way, if she were given the chance. Of course she loved him, he was her husband, her partner in crime, her best friend.

But he would never understand.

And Alina didn’t expect him to. There was no way he could know what the war really stole from her, even if she told him. It took her light, her name, and countless innocent lives that she couldn’t atone for. She felt scraped empty, and the days no longer had any meaning.

Mal didn’t seem to notice, at least, not as much as he maybe should have. He knew his girl was different, that something was irreparably changed in her, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to comfort her. He brought her flower tea and stole kisses when the children weren’t looking, and Alina almost hated him for thinking that would do any good. But it wasn’t his fault. They had been soldiers long before she was a Sun Summoner, and he was just processing things the only way he knew how.

To fill empty time, she used to paint. Strange murals filled the dark corners of the orphanage, captured pieces of a life that didn’t belong to Alina anymore. Tea with Genya, sparring with Zoya, a kiss almost shared between her and Nikolai. To Mal’s relief (and every so often, concern) she never drew the Darkling. The walls were covered in angry, black scribbles where she might’ve drawn him otherwise. But, as their third winter at Keramzin approached, Alina had stopped painting. She just stared at those black scratch marks of her own making, sometimes for hours on end. It wouldn’t be until Mal came in the evening to help her to bed that she would realize the hall had grown dark around her, the day had come and gone. And every night was like that. Her mind was always somewhere else. Mal would take her to bed, they would have sex. He has nightmares. She doesn’t sleep.

But there were good days, too.

“Aleksandra?”

She ignored him, hoping to nap a few minutes longer. Aleksandra was the false name she had chosen for herself, for guarded reasons that she kept close to her heart.

Alina was stretched out and sunbathing on a windowsill in the library, like an old cat. Mal kneeled in front of her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Mm, just a few more minutes?” She purred.

“You know Prince Perfect doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Her eyes shot open. “Nikolai is here?”

Mal hesitated. Even though it had been years, he was wary of the King’s affections for his wife. “The kids are ecstatic.”

Alina, sensing her husband’s unease, pulled him towards her. She gently kissed him and laughed. “Of course they are, he always brings presents.”

“Really? I thought it was the charm and undeniable charisma.”

The couple looked up to see Nikolai leaning in the doorway, and Alina bounded towards him. He tried his best to keep upright when she nearly threw herself into his arms, wrapping herself tightly around his neck. It had been almost a year since his last visit, and seeing him was one of the few things she looked forward to.

They pulled apart laughing, and Alina smiled wide. “You didn’t tell us you were coming!”

“You know I like a dramatic entrance. Besides, I think if I gave forewarning, Mal would board up the doors and windows.”

Mal hadn’t any need to change his name, because _Malyen_ was a common enough name, and only the people closest to them would have any knowledge of his connection to the “martyred” saint.

“You underestimate me, _Moi Tsar_ ,” He teased. “I’d have an armed guard waiting for your arrival.”

Alina turned back to Nikolai. “How long are you staying? You have to stay for dinner, at least. The kids will throw a fit it you don’t.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could spend the night.” He cast a quick glance at Mal. “I’m doing some business, and I don’t have the means to travel overnight.”

“Of course, you can stay as long as you like. I’ll have a room made up for you.”

He grinned. “I assume I’ll be getting your best room?”

“Don’t push it, Nikolai.” Alina smiled. “We’re not an inn.”

Just out of Alina’s vision, Mal tensed. It was just subtle enough for Nikolai to barely notice.

After that, Mal offered to take over the children’s classes for the day. Alina knew it was a kind gesture, an olive branch to show he approved (not that she _needed_ his approval) the close friendship between her and Nikolai. He would usually scorn at the idea of Nikolai and Alina spending any time alone together, and she was sure he was bitter on the inside, but he was trying. And she appreciated it all the more, knowing how hard it was for him. On the other hand, there was a part of her that was annoyed with him for not trusting her. After all this time, she was sure she had proven herself to be a trustworthy partner, even though _he_ had been the one caught necking with Zoya.

But that was all in the past. She supposed they both had crimes to pay for.

That night, when classes came to an end and the sun was getting low, Mal quickly put the children to bed. When he had last passed Alina, she told him that he should join her in the study for drinks after “lights out” for the children, and he was eager to see what his wife and the King were up to.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, it was just that he knew they kept the expensive kvas in the study, and it had begun to snow outside. He imagined that they had the fire lit, and the image made for a very romantic atmosphere. Mal was just a bit paranoid. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but when he approached the study and found the door open a crack, he didn’t go straight in.

The fire was lit, and he could see them both on the couch, sipping at brandy, engaged in light conversation. For the first time all day, Nikolai wasn’t wearing his gloves. Alina had her feet tucked beneath her, and had shed her day dress for her nightgown.

Nikolai reached for the ring that she kept around her neck on a ribbon. It shone an elegant green by the firelight.

“You still have it.” He spoke barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do.” She smiled. “You didn’t really expect me to sell the Lantsov emerald, did you?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t think you’d keep it around your neck.” Nikolai mused, turning the ring over in his hand.

“I still think you should take it back to the palace with you.”

He grinned. “Keep it. The idea of your doting husband seeing my ring on your breast is inexplicably pleasing to me.”

Alina laughed and tapped him hard on the shoulder. “ _Sobachka_.”

Mal, still hidden by the shadows, dug his nails into his palms. He resisted the urge to run in and demand to know why Alina had never told him about the ring. He had seen it before (she wore the damn thing on their _wedding_ day, for saints’ sake), but had never bothered to ask where it came from.

A comfortable silence fell between them, and Nikolai poured them both more brandy. He took a healthy gulp of his, and again refilled his glass.

“I did have a reason for coming, you know.”

“You always do.”

He sighed. “How are you, Aleks?”

“That’s your reason for coming? My well-being?” Alina laughed, warm from the liquor.

“I’m serious.”

Alina shook her head. Over the years, Nikolai’s charming, sarcastic facade had faded. Whether it was the responsibility of being the Ravkan King, the memories of war, of torture, Alina couldn’t tell. He was still blindingly handsome and charismatic, but he had been forever changed. It was an unspoken similarity they shared, an irrevocable sense of loss in both of them.

She took his hand into hers, running the tips of her fingers over the inky scars.

“I hate it when you’re serious.” She murmured.

“The last time Zoya came to visit you, she returned with some alarming news.”

“Oh,” Alina paused. “Did she?”

“I know about the jurda parem, Aleksandra.”

She rose from the couch, and pulled her robe (which had fallen to her waist) back over her bare shoulders. Alina strode across the room, the firelight making her appear almost ghostlike. She felt dizzy and angry, and a reasonable voice in her head told her she was near drunk, and should drink some water and go to bed. But Alina wasn’t exactly _known_ for following her own good advice, especially not when she’s this deep in her cup.

A few months before, Zoya Nazyalensky had shown up unannounced in the middle of a snow storm. She was on her way back to Os Alta after some important mission, and her horse wouldn’t make it in the bad weather. Of course, Alina and Mal invited her to stay, gave her a room, made a plate up for her at dinner so the cook didn’t have to do any extra work. That night, Alina took a tray of tea and cakes up to her room, and they sat down to talk. When they were teenagers, Zoya had been a vicious bully and rival, but these days both women had softened towards one another.

She was carrying a shipment of a sort of drug called “jurda parem” back to the Grand Palace, stolen for her by a Ketterdam gang known as “The Dregs”.

Jurda was a dried orange blossom, grown in Novyi Zem, and used as a stimulant to keep late-night workers awake and alert. Jurda _parem_ was apparently lethal to otkazyat’sya and dangerously addictive to Grisha who got their hands on it. It amplified their power to impossible heights, but it withered their bodies, turned them into slaves and altered their perception of the world. The Shu Han and Fjerdans had been using it to make Grisha work under their command, usually using them to kill other Grisha.

Zoya, in a moment of poor judgement, told Alina the effects of the drug over their tea that night. While they chatted, it didn’t seem to affect her that much. They moved on and talked about a hundred other topics, and it barely occurred to Zoya what a drug like that might mean to her friend. Later that night, she woke up to find Alina tearing through her things, looking for the stolen shipment of Parem. Mal had to come down and help Zoya hold Alina back while she had a nightmarish breakdown. All throughout the night, she wailed and fought, trying to convince the two to let her at the drug. She gave Zoya and Mal a fair amount of bruises, and after that, Alina didn’t leave her bed for almost a week.

“It could’ve fixed me,” She whispered. “It could’ve brought my power back.”

“Anything could’ve happened. If Zoya hadn’t caught you, you could’ve died.” Nikolai stood. “And even if it worked, the price isn’t worth it. I’ve seem what parem does to Grisha, Aleks. It burns them from the inside out.”

Alina turned on her heels. “Who are you to tell me what price I would pay? What do you know about how much the light is worth to me?”

Surprised on her own behalf, Alina took a deep breath. Her ache to be a true Grisha again was something she had not discussed with anyone, not even her own husband.

“I’m sorry.” She wiped a few stray tears off her face. “I’m drunk.”

“It’s okay. I’m getting there myself.” Nikolai sighed.

He walked over to her and pulled her into a gentle, comforting embrace. Alina melted into him, feeling safe in her own vulnerability for the first time in months. She wondered often if he was the only one who could understand her. When she ran her fingers over his scars, she saw the look in his eyes, and it was one that she recognized. A look of buried pain, of loss, of trauma that he could barely remember. She wanted to cup his face in her hands and tell him that it was okay for him to lean on her too, but she couldn’t find the words.

Nikolai pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, so subtle that even Mal couldn’t tell from his hiding spot, and let her go.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Nikolai,” She giggled, trying to make light of the situation. “I’m a married woman.”

“A fact of which I am painfully aware.” He smiled. “I want you to come up to the Southern Isles with me. I’m doing some business up there, and I have room for one more. I thought a warm change of scenery might be good for you.”

He went on to explain that the full trip would take up to a month, and he would have someone aboard to tailor them both. Genya wouldn’t be able to come, but Zoya would be joining them. Other than that, his crew would know her as “Lady Aleksandra”, and she would be Sturmhond’s guest.

Before Alina could say anything, Mal burst into the room, shooting off at the mouth.

“She won’t be going _anywhere_ , Nikolai.” He spat. “Alina has a life here, and you certainly won’t come barging into our home uninvited and proposing to whisk my wife away on some vacation.”

Alina flinched at the use of her real name, and didn’t hesitate to shush him.

“Have you lost your mind? The teachers sleep downstairs, you can’t call me that here!”

“I don’t give a damn. I want him to leave.” He gestured to Nikolai, who was more than willing to let the couple have their spat in private.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble-“ He started.

“You haven’t. You haven’t done _anything_ wrong.” Alina cut in. “Mal, I don’t know when you got it in your head that you can spy on me and decide my whereabouts, but I want you to put that notion out of your head right now.”

“We are married, Alina. I’m your husband, I certainly have a say in where you’re going and who you’re going with. And I’m not about to let you go traipsing off with Prince Perfect.”

She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

“You have responsibilities here. You have a job, a life-“

Alina interrupted. “And what kind of life is this? I float through every day like I’m already dead. It’s all meaningless, Mal. I wish I could be the wife that you wanted, but it means nothing to me.”

“I don’t trust him!” He shouted.

“Why should I trust you? No matter what you think, I never strayed from you, Mal. You were the one I found in Zoya’s bed when things between us weren’t going your way. Do you think I don’t notice the way your eyes slide over her, even now?”

Mal was struck silent. By that point, Nikolai had excused himself and slipped out the door.

“I’m going to bed,” Alina whispered, her voice strained and angry. “And tomorrow, I’m going to pack my things, say goodbye to the children, and go back to Os Alta with Nikolai.”

 

With that, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.


End file.
